BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit Read online

“You do realize that one day very soon, you won’t be able to come in here by yourself, don’t you? Kids and toy stores have always gone together, sort of a natural order,” Charlie teased. “I think it’s great that you and Jeb are expecting.”

  “Thank you, Charlie; I’m sure we’re in for lots of new experiences—and I can’t wait.” She began looking at the shelves, chocked full of all kinds of wonderful toys. There were books, puzzles, action figures, cars, a famous fashion model doll and her countless accessories to name just a few items she saw. A display of restored Mattel Chatty Cathy dolls from the fifties caught her attention. She couldn’t help but smile at their innocent, freckled faces—the turned-up noses, bubblegum-pink lips, and twin ponytails tied with fancy bows. The dolls wore short, flared party dresses made from ruffled taffeta and organza that were loved by the little girls and their mothers of that era.

  Charlie had a diverse selection of teddy bears to choose from and she found herself thinking about those that were sent to the families of children who had passed away. “Do you sell a lot of teddy bears?” she asked as she picked up a fluffy white one from the shelf. It had a pretty, pink-and-white checked bow tied around its neck and a tag identified her as ‘Daisy’. Not surprisingly, she wore a straw hat adorned with silk daisies. Kenni hugged the stuffed animal to her chest. “I don’t care how old I am or how many children I have, I’ll always love teddy bears.”

  “Lots of people feel that way,” Charlie agreed, and thought about Brownie, whom he had last seen dozing on his couch. He pointed to the one in Kenni’s arms. “Daisy is very popular. She might be a good choice for someone on your list.”

  Kenni hugged the bear and felt sad about parting with her as she placed her back on the shelf, as if she was deserting poor Daisy. “My niece would strangle me if I gave her a teddy bear. As a random gift she’d be okay with it, but not for Christmas. She’s nine, going on twenty. As a matter of fact, I have no idea what I’m going to get Emily for Christmas. She’ll probably end up with something boring, like clothes, and never speak to me again. When I was her age, I expected the perfect balance between toys and clothes, and my mother usually got it right.”

  “I just got in the new ‘I’m Just Like You’ dolls. They’re very popular with girls her age; I sell lots of them.”

  “I know she likes them, but I’d better check with my sister first to find out which ones she has. I’m sure there has to be at least one her mother hasn’t already bought for her.”

  “It seems kids get more and more sophisticated every year,” Charlie commented. “It’s like they have to become computer geniuses by the time they’re five in order to survive this world.” He shook his head. “They don’t get to be kids anymore, at least not for very long.”

  Kenni nodded. “I agree.” She continued looking at the items on the shelves. After several moments, she returned to Daisy and picked her up.

  Charlie looked at her curiously. “Do you think your niece will like Daisy after all?” He was surprised when Kenni shook her head.

  “No, but I don’t feel right leaving her behind.” Kenni looked once more at the Chatty Cathy dolls, then back at Charlie. “I’ll take the redheaded, pigtailed girl in the pink satin dress. I’m sure my sister, Cheryl, will love her. She’s a doll collector and always looking for a new ‘Cathy’ to add to her doll family.”

  ***

  Beyond the city limits of Brannan’s Point, a large house sat amidst wooded acreage secured by a wrought iron fence and electronic gate. The home had been built in the fifties and Marcus and Morgan Cole purchased it from the original owner shortly after their wedding. The sprawling, six-bedroom, split-level house had needed a lot of work, but the Coles’ finances allowed them to revive, modernize and personalize the place and they turned it into their personal estate. There was also a climate-controlled horse barn on the property that housed two Palominos, a four-car garage, and an indoor, Olympic-sized pool that dominated the rear part of their home.

  A deafening silence, devoid of human conversation, filled the formal dining hall on this pre-Christmas evening. Three sparkling, brass-and-crystal chandeliers hung above the antique oak table with emerald-green, high-backed velvet chairs that could easily accommodate twenty diners. A rustic stone fireplace with a raised hearth held a roaring fire. The crackling of the wood as the flames licked at it often became loud pops that the occupants of the room either didn’t hear, or chose to ignore. The carved wood mantle held pictures of happier times; portraits of Morgan, Marcus and Angela marking the years of their life together, and Marcus’ brother, Jackson, wearing a cap and gown at his high school graduation were just a sampling of the display.

  Marcus looked across the long table at his wife as she played with her salad, her attention fixed on the leafy vegetables in the fine china bowl. He couldn’t help but feel that they were miles apart, and that the long table at which they sat served as the perfect symbol to illustrate the ever-increasing distance between them. He had not seen her put as much as a forkful of food into her mouth. The warm glow from the chandeliers above the table caused the silk threads of her robe and her short, golden hair to sparkle. Morgan had a rule she seldom ignored, that dressing for dinner was expected—always—which left her husband wondering why she had come to dinner inexplicably wearing her robe. Traces of Morgan’s signature scent, an exclusive blend of jasmine and ginger, lingered in the air like the tension in the room.

  “I saw Angela this evening, on my way home,” Marcus said, breaking the silence, but he doubted his wife was listening. As always, Morgan seemed lost in thoughts she never shared with him, locked within a world from which Marcus found himself excluded, and it angered him. “She was in very good spirits tonight, very talkative and happy. She looks great, and she wants to come home.”

  Morgan looked up. “Was that nurse hovering over her while you were there?” she asked. Her eyes flashed angrily and reminded her husband of a jagged bolt of lightning searing through the foreboding grayness of a stormy summer sky.

  Morgan’s gaze shifted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The forest green drapes were still open and she saw her reflection in a window against the dark, night sky beyond. I look old, she thought. Old and ugly.

  Marcus frowned. “I was talking about our daughter and how much she wants to come home. Why are you rambling on about a nurse?” He shook his head in frustration at the lack of communication between them, resisting the temptation to bang an angry fist against the table, doubting she would notice if he did. “I feel like I’m talking to a wall—No, I take that back; I might get more response from the damned wall!”

  At the rise in his voice, Morgan dropped her fork. It clattered noisily against the china bowl and echoed through the room. “Do you ever listen to me, Marcus? I mean Kenni Hastings—that damned, irritating, Miss Perfect of a nurse our daughter thinks the sun rises and sets on!”

  Morgan was more distant emotionally than usual and Marcus wondered why he even bothered to try when she was like this—untouchable, unreachable. It was as if they resided in separate universes with nothing in common. At a time when he imagined they would be united in support of their child’s needs, they seemed to be at complete odds instead.

  “After tomorrow, I won’t have to put up with her anymore.”

  Confused by Morgan’s ramblings about a nurse, Marcus impatiently raised one eyebrow at his wife’s remark. “Why? What happens tomorrow? I have no clue as to what you are talking about.” He rubbed at his knuckles idly. “Morgan?”

  She released an exasperated sigh. “I’m talking about that nurse who is always pestering Angela and not letting her rest. I’m talking about the woman Angela refers to as ‘Nurse Kenni,’ and makes such a big deal over. Well, I’ve taken care of it.”

  “You did what?” he asked. “I’ve never understood why you’ve insisted that Angela stay in that infernal hospital to begin with, but I gave in and let you have your way, even though I disagree. Why do you seem intent on removing the one bright s
pot our daughter has while she’s stuck there? What did you do, Morgan? Are you jealous that our child turned to someone else for love and affection because she doesn’t get what she needs from you anymore? Is that what this is about?”

  Morgan crossed her arms and felt herself begin to tremble inside. “I will not have an outsider working against me when it comes to my daughter. That woman disregards everything I say, as if she is the only one who knows what’s best. She treats me as if I’m just some stupid idiot who knows nothing at all.” She gave her head a haughty toss. “I went to Doctor Parmenter today and demanded that Kenni Hastings be removed from Angela’s care team.”

  “Morgan!” Marcus swore under his breath. “Whatever you’ve done, you will see to it that it is undone first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t you have anything else to do besides cause trouble? If you’ve got nothing to do, may I remind you that we have a business that needs your attention?”

  Morgan’s mouth fell open in surprise; Marcus had never spoken to her that way before, not ever since they had met. While it was clear that they had grown apart since Angela’s illness, she was unprepared for his harshness, and for what she perceived to be his siding with someone else—namely, Kenni Hastings—against her.

  “I will do no such thing!” Morgan snapped indignantly.

  Marcus wasn’t sure what to make of his wife’s behavior. She used to be fun, creative. Sometimes he felt he no longer knew the woman he was married to at all. “You’re my wife, but I don’t know who you are anymore. Since Angela was diagnosed with leukemia, you’ve turned into someone alien to me. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, I’m wrong.” His eyes searched hers; seeking to find a trace of the woman he had fallen in love with and prayed was still there, somewhere.

  “Do you think it’s easy for me, knowing my daughter is dying?”

  Marcus thought he saw the hint of a tear before she quickly blinked it away, but no sign that the Morgan he adored still existed. “It’s not easy for either of us.”

  “What about my having to run this business while I’m dealing with the fact that Angela is dying? Do you think it’s easy, Marcus?”

  Despite how selfish and difficult Morgan had become, Marcus still loved her, though at times he wondered why. He was tired of not knowing how to reach her. He was also more than slightly concerned about her state of mind. At times, Morgan reminded him of a beautiful porcelain doll perched precariously on a high shelf and about to fall despite his best efforts to keep her safe. He feared she might shatter into a million pieces that might not go back together again.

  “I know how hard it is—I’m her father! I’m dealing with it as well. And I’m also handling the business, in case you’ve forgotten. We’ve got the FabuYou Shoppe deal on the table to make a decision about, but you ignore me every time I bring it up. It’s a highly profitable deal for us, sweet and easy, and we need to act on it soon. There are at least three other companies anxious to carry our products, and I need to know what you want to do. It’s your name on the labels, Dear.”

  Morgan didn’t seem to hear her husband; her thoughts were focused on only one thing. “I don’t want Kenni Hastings around Angela. I will not allow that woman to turn my daughter against me!”

  Marcus ran a hand through his hair in frustration, battling with all his might to retain his composure. “For crying out loud, no one is turning Angela against you! She wants to come home, and I can’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to. We can hire a thousand of the world’s most competent nurses to make sure she’s okay, if that’s what it will take to get you to realize our child deserves to be home where she belongs. Would that make you feel safer with Angela at home, in case something went wrong? I’m tired of looking into those eyes, into that little face and seeing how much it hurts her every time I tell her she can’t come home, I can’t do it anymore—I won’t do it anymore.”

  “No!” Morgan screamed and got to her feet. “Don’t you understand? Angela cannot die in this house!” She threw her linen napkin down and ran from the room sobbing, her hands covering her face.

  ***

  Marcus had lost all track of time as he sat limply in his chair at the dining room table. He had no idea how long he’d sat there, feeling deflated, like a balloon that had slowly expelled the last of its air while his untouched dinner had grown cold. He had expected things to be difficult when Angela was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia, and that emotion would run high. He had also expected there would be times of extreme stress and tension.

  What he had not anticipated was Morgan’s inexplicable reluctance to continue her relationship with Angela, yet she didn’t want anyone else to have one with her either. However, despite his wife’s behavior, he knew that his main focus must shift to the happiness and well-being of Angela. While he resisted the temptation to bring their daughter home because Morgan was in such an unstable state, there was a possible alternative: Marcus’ mother had repeatedly offered her willingness to have Angela live with them in Cincinnati. It wasn’t Angela’s home, but it would at least get her out of the hospital and allow her to be with family who loved her.

  ***

  In Michael’s hospital room, Lauren Donahue sat at her son’s bedside as he watched TV. She saw that he was trying hard not to give in to those warm, drowsy feelings that enticed him to close his eyes. It had been a busy day for Michael, who had endured new medical tests and the tedious process of settling in. Lauren had made an immediate connection with Nurse Hastings, whom she had only known before as an acquaintance from church; up until now, they had never exchanged more than a few words, in passing.

  “Mom, is it okay if I close my eyes for a second?” Michael asked with a yawn. “I’m not gonna sleep or nothin’, but my eyes are dried out. Do ya think if I close ‘em they’ll get wet again? They feel like there’s sand in there.”

  Lauren smiled, her violet-blue eyes shining. She thought about telling him what her mother had told her so long ago, that it was the Sandman who was making his eyes ready for sleep, but she knew he was too sophisticated for that. Children now lived in a high-tech world alien from the one she recalled from her own childhood, a world of computers and virtual reality.

  While she knew that the tests and whatever medical procedures to follow would not be pleasant for Michael, she knew in her heart that God would be with him, clung to her faith that He would eventually heal him. She didn’t know why her son had been chosen to go through such an ordeal, but Lauren believed with all her heart that there was a reason, and that when it was over, God would receive the glory for a wonderful miracle.

  “Go ahead and close those eyes, my love. Everyone’s eyes get tired; I know mine do.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek before smoothing thick, dark curls back from his forehead. “If you wake up—not that I expect you’ll fall asleep or anything—but in case you do, and I’m not here, you know that God is always with you.”

  “Yep,” Michael breathed in a soft, weary voice. “I love you, Mommy.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Within seconds, she heard the sounds of Michael’s soft, rhythmic breathing as he fell asleep. She straightened his covers, then held his hand in hers and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, please watch over my baby. I know You could just as easily call him home as see him through this, but I believe that Michael’s life has a special purpose. What he may have to walk through may not be easy, but I know he’ll never be alone because You will never leave or forsake him. I claim Your promises, Jesus; I claim Your promises for Michael.”

  ***

  It had been a very long day, and Bernie’s bone-weariness felt like a set of one-hundred-pound barbells had attached themselves to his shoulders. It spread throughout his entire body as he buttoned his overcoat and waited for the elevator. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he should retire. He quashed the thought. What would I do all day if I didn’t work? No, it's better to be too busy and go home tired than to sit around with nothing to do and no on
e to do it with.

  A man’s voice broke the silence in the empty corridor, sounding from behind him. “Good evening, Bernie. I see I’m not the only one who can’t seem to get out of here at a decent hour.”

  Bernie turned in the direction of the voice to find Clay Parmenter walking toward him. He carried a large leather briefcase and wore the weary look of an overworked executive, well-dressed and sporting dark circles beneath his eyes. He had just entered his fifties, younger than Bernie. Clay was quite fit, tall, tan and muscular, yet slender with a full head of shocking silver hair that seemed more suited to an older man. His eyes were a cool shade of ocean-blue that Isabel once remarked were like Paul Newman’s.

  “Good evening, Clay,” Bernie greeted him with a smile. “Today was one of those days that seemed to have a new twist at every turn.”

  Clay laughed. “Isn’t that the truth?” He pressed the elevator button, although he assumed Bernie had already done so—just one of many habitual acts of impatience.

  “Some days, I think I’d like to retire,” Bernie admitted. “But I’ve heard it said that you can’t take a day off from retirement. Sounds nice, though, on those days when I’d rather be home playing with all those power tools I’ve accumulated over the years…and have hardly used.”

  Doctor Parmenter ignored Bernie’s comment as his thoughts were elsewhere. “Bernie, how well do you know Kenni Hastings? She’s Jeb’s wife, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, they’re expecting their first child.” He felt suddenly uneasy and sensed what was coming next. “You may not know her very well, but Kenni is a wonderful nurse, one of the best we have. She’s like a ray of sunshine for some of the children. Their faces light up at the sight of her when they come back for their checkups.”

  Clay sighed. “I’m afraid there’s a problem involving her work. You see, I’ve had a complaint from Morgan Cole. She’s rather insistent that Kenni be removed from Angela’s care team.”

  “I certainly hope you’re not considering it,” Bernie replied, as he recalled his earlier meeting with Mrs. Cole. The silence that followed distressed him, and when the Executive Chief of Staff nodded his head, Bernie felt a surge of anger rise within him. “You can’t be serious.”